I am coming down with the lurgi, and I want my mummy. Or at least I would, if my mother wasn't the last person on earth you want around when you are ill.
I love my mother, don't get me wrong. I even like her a lot, enjoy her company and all that, but she is a member of the Codral Cult. When presented with illness, one attempts to deny it for as long as humanly possible, and then if that becomes impossible, one Soldiers On. A small amount of whinging is permitted, even obligatory, but Life continues. All of it. No dodging responsibility, no retreating to bed and whimpering.
This had its interesting side effects. She never believed either of us kids when we broke bones. My sister had to wait a minimum of overnight to be taken to hospital for each of her three breaks. My break was only a greenstick fracture, and I was never taken to hospital. It was diagnosed when I was 25.
On the plus side, it probably prepared me well for parenting, because in all reality, hiding in bed and whimpering is probably not going to work. The 8 month old is unlikely to feed and bathe herself and then tuck herself into bed. That could be pushing my independence barrow just a little too far. And the cold and flu tablets I take leave me with a quiet buzz akin to 2 glasses of wine.
But still, my teddy and a book look very attractive...